Pockets
by Skep
Summary: Ron isn't content with himself, and he hates it. Remus is still grieving, but wants to do all he can to help Ron. Together, there's a chance that they could be happy if only they would let themselves. Slash, RonRemus
1. Chapter One

Title: Pockets  
Author: Skep  
Inspired by: The idea for this really came from the song "You In Stone" by Toploader - in particular one lyric: "there's nothing more that I can say / I'm a bird without a song today". For some reason, a whole story stemmed from this one phrase, and, well, that's what you're about to read. The title is from the Powderfinger song "Pockets", the chorus of which seemed appropriate to this story - but we shall see that later on.  
Disclaimer: I own nowt but the plot. No infringement intended.  
A/N: This will eventually be a slashy, multi-chapter story. If that's not your type of thing, turn away now. Reviews and encouragement are welcomed with open arms; flamers will be openly mocked. 

_Pockets, Chapter One_

  
_

Would you mind telling me  
Why I don't know what to do with myself 

_  
_-E. Torrini_  
  
He's getting that feeling again. He knows it's stupid, he's had seventeen years of opportunity to figure out what it is he wants from life, seventeen years of low self confidence and a fiery temper – but now, now he just doesn't know. 

On some levels, he finds it pointless to think about what his life will be like after Hogwarts. Hell, he doesn't even know if there's going to be a life after Hogwarts. But everyone keeps telling him and telling him and telling him that he has to think of his options, he has to plan ahead, he has to prepare himself. 

It's not like he doesn't _want_ to be prepared, he thinks bitterly – he's all for being prepared for anything, regardless of whether or not he's spent his life acting on instinct. But the point is that he knows no matter what he does after school, not matter what Hogwarts sees him become, he will always be forgotten or ignored in favour of someone else. It's not his inferiority complex telling him this, he says to himself, he knows that it's true, it's what people think. After all, who wouldn't overlook him when there's Harry Potter to talk about, or the smartest witch of Hogwarts to admire? He's 'blissfully' average, and he knows it. He tells himself sternly that he should have accepted it by now, surely. With five older brothers that have been remembered and will always be remembered by everyone – not to mention a sister that stands out just because she's the only _girl_ – he will only be recalled as the sidekick, the one that helped but didn't do anything of importance. It's Harry that always does the daring deed, it's Hermione that always works everything out in the nick of time – and it's him that gets knocked unconscious or gets left behind because some stupid rat cast a spell on him. 

Ron isn't happy with himself, and he hates it. 

Sometimes he likes to wonder what would happen if he suddenly changed, if he suddenly stood out for something other than his temper. If he surprised everyone by being anything other than _ordinary_. 

He wonders what his friends, his family, his peers – even his teachers – he wonders what they would think of the transformation. It's not like many of them even knew him, or would have the faintest idea _why_ he changed. 

"Mr Weasley? Mr Weasley? Ron?" 

A honey-smooth voice snaps Ron out of his thoughts with a start, and he looks straight up into the eyes of Professor Lupin. He's vaguely aware that the lesson is over, that Harry and Hermione are hovering by the door waiting for him so they can go to lunch. 

"Is everything alright?" 

Ron blinks, twice. "Er… yeah, yeah I'm fine. I guess I got a little distracted there, eh–" And while he is thinking of something remotely intelligent to say, stuffing his books into his bag, his teacher gets there first. 

"Well, we should all indulge in a little daydreaming now and then," he says, "Though perhaps my class is not the best time to do it. Off to lunch, now." 

And then Ron is standing, swinging his bag over his shoulder and moving towards the doorway through which Harry and Hermione passed a few minutes ago. But before he leaves the classroom he turns back to see Remus smile at him. Well, he thinks, maybe _someone_ would notice – and it is then that he lets himself smile back. 


	2. Chapter Two

Title: Pockets   
Author: Skep   
Inspired by: This chapter's lyrics are from the great Neil Finn, from his song 'Anytime' which can be found on the album 'One Nil'.   
Disclaimer: I own nowt but the plot. No infringement intended.   
Feedback: Reviews and encouragement are welcomed with open arms; flamers will be mocked.   
A/N: Apologies for the delay with this - I've just been through my final exams, which is wonderful as it means no more school EVER. Ahem. I'm not happy with this chapter. It seems too clumsy, I think, and it didn't turn out at all how I wanted it to. I wrote it some time ago, and even revisiting it now I don't like it. But I thought I'd give it a shot, and see what you lot think, anyway.

_Pockets, Chapter Two_

_

"Remember how it goes   
Every time you take the water   
You swim against the flow"   
- N. Finn

_

The tired-looking, greying man known as Remus Lupin is not what one would call ordinary. Functioning within regular society has never been one of his strengths, and he knows it. Even as a small child, when one's peers are at their most tolerating, he was not accepted. Too bookish, too small, too ill – the list of flaws his associates draw upon seems to never end, whether they be blind prejudices or not.

He is a werewolf. He knows they will always act this way, and he accepts it.

It's not like he asked for it to happen. Young though he was, he had been content with his life in the countryside of southern England, with his French father and English mother. But, it seemed, the fates were not to be with him on the one particular night that he journeyed away from the safety of their fenced garden, travelled away from the light and warmth and security of his parents and into the terrifying, trapped mind of a werewolf stuck inside a boy's body. If only he hadn't left that night, if only he had stayed, if only if only _if only._

But if Remus has learnt one thing from his troubled life, he knows that there is no point in obsessing over the past, over what might have happened had he only done one thing or another. There has been more to his life than the average outsider might think upon first meeting him, more than books and full moons – no, there has been two wonderful friends, only two because he will never bring himself to willingly remember the third, there has been an evil wizard trying to take over the world, there has been an escaped convict-friend-lover, there has been treason and plotting and more death than anyone should see in their lifetime.

And yet, after all this, Remus Lupin is a man who refuses to give up. Where would the challenge be? Where would the excitement and passion and chance of _life _be if he just stopped and refused to continue? He has seen too much to surrender to the cruel world now.

Sometimes he thinks about it. Thinks about forgetting that he ever knew anyone called Peter Pettigrew, ever congratulated the couple of James and Lily Potter for their first-born, ever loved an annoying, handsome prat named Sirius Black.

_Oh, Sirius._ If anything could convince him to relinquish his hold on the world, it would be Sirius. Losing him for the first time had been terrible. But to be denied the chance of happiness for the second time had almost destroyed him, even worse than before, had turned him for a while into a broken man who could not see the point of getting up in the morning, see why he should continue living when everyone he ever cared about had left him.

It was then that he had remembered that there _were _people he cared about. There were even people that cared for _him_. There was a black-haired, bespectacled boy that he had a duty to. There was a kindly old man who had put so much faith in him. There was a bushy haired young witch who had sternly protected his secret, even if she hadn't known who he really was. And then, then there was Ron.

It had been the youngest Weasley son who had convinced him to return to teaching. Ron had shown him that he didn't have to admit defeat, didn't have to stop living just because his friends had. Remus had asked Dumbledore, and, backed by enormous support, he had resumed his position as Defence Against The Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. Ironic, really, that Remus finds he has no idea how to defend himself from himself.

Mentally, he shakes himself. He doesn't want to think of thoughts like this, not when he is the first DADA teacher in seven years to return for a second stab at the position. Not when he has the support of not only his friends, but the school community as well. He is well aware that there are people who disagree with Dumbledore's acceptance of him as a teacher; people that think a werewolf is not a safe creature to have in the vicinity of hundreds of school children, of their professors, of _anyone._

He draws in a shaky breath. He knows what some people would like to have done to him – to his kind. He knows that, really, he should call it quits and retreat to the safety of his own world before he gives anyone an opportunity to harm him - or rather before anyone gives him an opportunity to harm _them._

Remus looks up and surveys the class before him, eyes settling on a daydreaming red head.

He smiles. He never was one to follow the crowd, anyway.


	3. Chapter Three

Title: Pockets  
Author: Skep  
Inspired by: This chapter's lyrics are by Starsailor, from their song 'Fidelity' which can be found on the new album 'Silence Is Easy'.  
Disclaimer: I own nowt but the plot. No infringement intended.  
Feedback: Reviews and encouragement are welcomed with open arms; flamers will be mocked.  
A/N: The muse decended at about 10.30 last night, just as I was going to bed - so apologies if there are any glaring errors. This chapter most definitely did not come off the way I planned it to; in fact the whole series has just taken a major diversion away from my original plans. I had very much not thought about Ron as a self harmer, but - whether it was just the fact that I was tired, or that I tend to identify most with Ron and find it easiest to write his character - this story now hits quite close to home. But really, I can see it happening. And this is a drama story, ne? Thus I feel obligated warn you now that it's going to get darker. As always, let me know what you think. 

_Pockets, Chapter Three_

_

"But it's all just a way  
That we cope with our lives"  
-Starsailor

_

It is with suspicious eyes that Harry surveys Ron when he arrives in the Great Hall.

"What took you so long?"

"What? Oh – oh I was just talking with Professor Lupin," Ron says; it's not a lie.

"Really?" Harry asks, though it comes out as more of a statement than a question. An eyebrow is quirked at his delivery; at his inane ability of spouting words that reflect his inner state.

"Yeah," Ron says, giving Harry a sideways look. "Why, something wrong?"

Harry looks at him for some time before answering in the negative, and Ron starts to become uneasy. Sometimes he thinks that Harry knows exactly how he feels about Remus, and that his whole friendship is based on the fiction that they are both completely ignorant to the other.

He shakes his head, and reaches for a chicken sandwich. There's no need to be paranoid. Nobody knows of his slightly-more-than-admiration for their professor, nobody would suspect a thing.

But still, Harry is giving him that strange look.

_What's wrong with you? _

His mind pauses for a second.

_What's wrong with **me**?_

The awkwardness at the table all but dissipates as Hermione becomes involved in informing them of her latest ethical fixation. Harry slips easily into the friendly banter, yet Ron still finds that he can't shake his discomfort. Even though it was just moments ago that he was contemplating Harry's possible insight into his romantic emotions, there are times that Ron wonders if Harry actually has a clue what's going on in his life.

He can't blame him really, after all Harry is the Boy Who Lived. He has a lot on his plate. He has to save the world.

And Ron – well, Ron's just the sidekick. He doesn't have to worry about the formalities, he just has to chip in at the end and hope for the best.

But, dammit, he's part of all this too. He has his own thoughts and feelings, his own sense of hopelessness and despair – and _he_ still manages to notice when something's wrong with one of his friends.

Why doesn't anyone _notice_ him?

There is a lull in the conversation, and Ron finds himself alone with his thoughts.

It's been two months now, since he started.

He's not sure why, but it just felt like the right thing to do at the time – it offers him some sense of relief, some sanity in a world to which he is desperately clinging.

He stands quite abruptly, and barely hears himself as he makes excuses to leave the table. Ducking his head and swiftly making his way from the Great Hall, he is vaguely aware that Hermione is looking after him with a worried expression - one that disappears when Harry reassures her that it's a completely normal thing for Ron to do.

He makes it to his dormitory without encountering another being, and for that he is grateful. It wouldn't do to be interrupted while he is in this mindset.

He sits on his bed, and draws the curtains around him closed, holding them in place with a quick charm. Reaching over to the drawer of his bedside cabinet, he pulls out an ordinary pair of scissors – nothing to wonder about, after all who doesn't have a pair of scissors on hand for their scholastic activities?

Ron smiles sadly, darkly. He wouldn't want to bet that many of Hogwarts' students use them for the same purpose as him.

He hurriedly pushes up the left sleeve of his robe, gripping the now opened scissors tightly by the handle with his right hand. He traces the scars on his left forearm; the scars that vary in length, depth, and age. Some are faint, old scars from the beginning. There are more recent ones, but nothing fresh. He hasn't felt this way for over a week.

Without hesitation, he draws the open blade slowly over a patch of unmarred skin, watching with an almost cheerful outlook as a thin line darkens and blood vessels burst. He is careful; not hard enough to bleed heavily but just enough to cause pain to distract him from the chaos of his head.

He wipes the scissors with a nearby handkerchief, and then his wound.

He curls a protective hand over his forearm, over the fresh cut, and lies back on his bed.

_Why doesn't anyone notice?_


	4. Chapter Four

Title: Pockets  
Author: Skep  
Inspired by: This chapter's lyrics are from Nina Simone's 'I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be Free'; a personal favourite of mine.  
Disclaimer: I own nowt but the plot. No infringement intended.  
Feedback: Reviews and encouragement are welcomed with open arms; flamers will be mocked.  
A/N: This chapter has taken much longer than I thought it would. I had actually completed it a short time after chapter three, but then my lovely beta RomaKhan pointed out many things that I was unconsciously worrying about. Thus a new chapter was born, rather different from its original draft.

_Pockets, Chapter Four_

_"I wish I knew how  
It would feel  
To be free"  
-Nina Simone _

It's classes like these that Remus really enjoys – letting the students work together in groups, thinking for themselves and using their textbooks to figure out answers. 

He supposes he is lucky to have such a class, one that understands that the days of the full moon are sometimes too much for him to handle. He knows it to be futile, to dream about what his life would be like if he hadn't such a curse. Childhood friends, a greater trust between himself and the other Marauders in the days leading to that fateful night, a life where he would be able to get a job and have unmarred skin and maybe settle down and just be _happy_.

Like always, he stops his thoughts there. He is settled. Hogwarts has always been his home, always will be. It's just the people that keep changing.

He knows that, like the chains of the werewolf, the pain he feels at the loss of Sirius will always be with him. But, like his curse, he knows that it will eventually fade. He will never forget Sirius, but one day he will move on.

It just won't happen soon, that's all.

He looks back down to the parchment in front of him, focusing his attention away from the class and towards the marking that he wants to get done before tonight's moon. Ah, he always did find vampires an interesting topic...

He doesn't see Ron getting up to borrow a textbook from Seamus, Neville and Dean's group, doesn't see as Neville misjudges distances and accidentally hits Ron on the left arm.

He doesn't see any of this, so it's the scent of blood that first alerts Remus that something in his classroom is out of place – the sharp metallic tang that overpowers all the senses in his mind.

What really angers the wolf, though, is that the blood is from someone of whom the wolf feels protective, someone who means a lot not just to the man inside Remus.

He stifles the low growl that he can feel building up in his throat. Ron is hurt, he has to help him, has to do something –

Wait a minute. Remus takes a breath.

Ron is showing no signs of pain. He's grinning. He's joking with Harry and Hermione. He's acting like nothing's wrong – and that Remus doesn't understand. Who would be hurting Ron in such a way that he would continue like nothing was wrong?

Remus needs to talk to him. _Now._

He stands up, all intent on taking the student aside, until he catches sight of the time. Even better – he can dismiss the class. Some of them are even packing their books up already.

"Good work today, everybody – work that I'm sure you're all putting into last week's essay that, need I remind you, is due tomorrow." He smiles slightly as the class bites back a collective groan – he knows that they enjoy his lessons too much to complain about a bit of homework, a minor amount when compared to their other subjects. "I'll see you all bright and early first period then," he bends down and collects some of his papers together, the perfect picture of calm.

And now the class is filing out of the door, excited chatter extending well into the corridors. Last to leave, the Golden Trio is almost at the door when Remus calls out gently, "A word if you will, Mr Weasley."

For a moment, Ron looks like a deer caught in the headlights of the Knight Bus, but this is quickly replaced with a well practiced look of apprehension. "It's nothing to worry about, you haven't done anything wrong. Harry and Hermione," he addresses the remaining two, "You'd best be going as this may take a while."

Exchanging confused looks, Harry and Hermione make their way from the room as Ron hesitantly walks closer. "Shall we?" Remus leads the way up the stairs to his office, immediately finding a record to play, as is his usual after-school habit. He settles on a vocal selection, and soon the rich voice of Nina Simone is filling the air.

He motions to the chairs placed slightly away from his desk. "Please," he says, "have a seat."

Obediently, Ron sits.

"Tea?"

"What – oh, um, yes thank you." Remus can tell the boy is merely being polite, but it warms him nonetheless. As he is busying himself with the mugs and kettle – all the while forcing himself to calm the turmoil inside his head – he hears Ron's slightly anxious voice.

"If you don't mind me asking, Professor, what's all this about?"

"Remus, please Ron," he corrects his student, handing him a mug of tea and sitting down opposite him. "By now it's clear that we have a more than professional relationship –" He stops, eyes widening in tandem with Ron's as he realises just what that statement could imply. "In that we are more acquaintances, friends, than student and teacher," he amends.

"Of course… Remus." Ron tries the name out, clearly unfamiliar in addressing his teacher in such a way. "But I still don't understand why I'm here."

Remus thinks for a moment before answering. He has to remind himself that, in his position, he should be merely concerned about the welfare of Ron from a purely professional standpoint – regardless of what he has just said about being more than just a student and teacher. He hopes that Ron doesn't notice the overly tight grip with which he holds his mug.

"Are you all right, Ron?"

The question seems to throw the young man; indeed it was not the way that Remus had intended to breach the subject.

"Me? I'm fine," Ron answers, eyebrows knitted together. "Er, why?"

"I'm a bit concerned about you," his teacher replies, and continues as Ron as starts to say something. "It's nothing to do with schoolwork, I know how hard you've been working towards your NEWTs."

"Yeah, thanks to Hermione," Ron says, grinning slightly.

"Ah yes, I had thought that Miss Granger had something to do with it," he smiles. "But I'm talking about – well, both as a teacher and friend I'd like to think that you trust me, yes?" At Ron's nod he continues, noticing that the teenager is starting to have an inkling of where the conversation may be heading, glancing briefly at the hand that is now curled protectively over his left arm. "I've noticed that you seem to be – well, you have been –" Remus stops, sighs.

This is proving to be harder than he thought it would be. He's unsure of this situation, and he dislikes it. He's always taken security in things that are certain, things that give him the control that he loses once a month.

Ron is looking at him now. "Prof – Remus? Is something wrong?"

"Ron," Remus begins, deciding that honesty is the best policy, "As I'm sure you know, the senses of a creature such as myself are finely attuned to the world around them, regardless of whether it is the full moon." He ploughs on, ignoring Ron's look of distaste and murmur of "You're not a creature!"

"While in class today I noticed that you were bleeding – or rather, I smelt blood, your blood – but you didn't do anything about it. I was just wondering if you were all right." He is repeating himself, but he can't think of a better way to say it. He's getting through to Ron, at least, who is slightly wide eyed. Ron's hand still hasn't left his arm.

"I… I'm uh, I'm fine, like I said. And I've got to go and, uh, go and finish an essay for Professor Binns. Hermione would probably kill me if she knew how late I've left it –" And now Ron stands, and gives a strange, nervous laugh which shakes Remus into action.

"Ron," he says, arm shooting out to grab Ron's hand before he can leave. "Please," he implores, his voice urgent.

Ron hasn't sat down yet, but he starts to turn. He keeps his eyes to the floor, something that Remus identifies with wolf-surety as a gesture of submission. How had Ron become such a shell of his former, confident self?

He gently tugs Ron's arm, and Ron sits once more. His hands tremble slightly as he pulls back the sleeves of his robe.

"Oh, Ron…" Remus voice is low as he sighs.

The moment he sees the cuts on Ron's arms, it is pure instinct for him to move forward and envelop the boy in his arms. He doesn't miss how Ron's eyes fly up to meet his, shocked, before closing firmly.

They remain like that for a long time, tightly held together by something that they cannot identify; something that is more than mere friendship.

And then Ron pulls back, looks Remus directly in the eye, forget-me-not blue to amber brown, and turns away.

"I'm – I'm sorry," he says, unable to face the man who knows his secret. "It was just something to do – something to make it all go away. I know it was stupid, but I – I had to. I had to," he repeats, swiftly leaving the classroom as his teacher stands abruptly, futilely watching Ron race away.

Remus slowly sinks into his chair, not noticing as the music ends.

His heart aches.


	5. Chapter Five

Title: Pockets  
Author: Skep  
Inspired by: This chapter's lyrics are from The Eels' "I Need Some Sleep". It's a song which aptly captures what it's like when you really, really want to sleep!  
Disclaimer: I own nowt but the plot. No infringement intended.  
Feedback: Reviews and encouragement are welcomed with open arms; flamers will be mocked.  
A/N: I know this chapter is rather, hmm, short, but I wanted to get it out quite quickly. Well, sort of quickly, I guess. Also, Chapter Four was a fair bit longer than most chapters, so hopefully that makes up for the briefness of this one. :)

_Pockets, Chapter Five_

_"I tried counting sheep  
But there's always one I miss"  
- Eels _

Two hours, forty-three minutes.

It's been two hours and forty three minutes since Ron revealed his cuts to Remus. Two hours and forty three minutes that Ron has spent trying to get some sleep. Two hours and forty three minutes in which Ron has tried to figure out why on earth he feels so damn good about having told someone.

Two hours, forty-four minutes.

Ron isn't sure why anyone would need to know in the first place, why anyone would want to know. He had been doing fine for so long, he really had. He hadn't thought that he would want to share this with anyone, ever – this was something that only he needed to know about.

Two hours, forty-five minutes.

When he takes all of this into account, Ron finds he is surprised at how much better he feels. The fact that somebody knows, somebody knows what he has been doing to himself and why he's been doing it – well, that would be enough to send him away, too embarrassed to look into the eyes of the person that knows.

Two hours, forty-six minutes.

But the fact that it is Remus who knows, Remus who found out and Remus who said nothing, didn't even ask why but with one blink caused Ron to reveal the secret that's been weighing him down when he didn't even know it.

Two hours, forty-seven minutes.

Ron realises that it's Remus who has made the difference.

Two hours, forty-eight minutes.

He finally sleeps.


	6. Chapter Six

Title: Pockets  
Author: Skep  
Inspired by: This chapter's lyrics are from Crowded House's 'Not The Girl You Think You Are'. I do so love Crowded House. :D  
Disclaimer: I own nowt but the plot. No infringement intended.  
Feedback: Reviews and encouragement are welcomed with open arms; flamers will be mocked.  
A/N: Yes, this chapter has been quite some time coming, but life right now is awfully hectic. Big giant thanks as usual to my lovely beta, RomaKhan.

_Pockets, Chapter Six_

_"He won't deceive you,  
Or tell you the truth"  
-Neil & Tim Finn_

Remus refuses to look at the time.

His watch is ticking half-heartedly against his wrist, and the clock on his bedside table is smirking at him, but he hasn't looked at them yet.

He doesn't need a clock, really, because time has blurred together into one steady thought of Ron that troubles insistently at the back of his mind with the same continual rhythm of his heart.

Remus has tried everything to distract himself from it. He sat in his office for a while, gently contemplating the ache he could feel deep inside of him – because that's what Remus does in a difficult situation, what Remus has always done. He thinks about things, and when that doesn't work, he ignores them and puts them away to be analysed at a later date.

So Remus has marked students' essays for the past however-many-hours, has skipped dinner because he knew that if he moved away from this singular task his thoughts would move straight back to the redhead who opened up to him.

But now there is no more work for him, and Remus thinks that at least he's up to date, but then his gaze strays from his desk towards his wrist, and the time there is shouting at him; 11:45pm 11:45pm 11:45pm 11:45pm 11:45pm 11:45pm –

_11:46pm._

Well, at least he knows that time hasn't stopped.

And Remus knows now that he's _got _to think about Ron, even though his insides are still frozen with fear and guilt that he didn't realise what was going on. There's something deep inside that clenches whenever he closes his eyes because there is Ron's face looking at him with quiet desolation but all he can see in those blue eyes is _Sirius_.

He doesn't mean to link the two in his mind, and he knows that doing so can only lead to trouble – but he can't help himself.

If he lets himself, Remus knows he will be lost in the memories – finding a dark haired youth clutching a razor blade in one hand, being unable to understand why anyone would _want _the pain, trying his hardest to help but struggling to climb over the self-imposed barriers that kept anyone from getting too close, that kept him from getting too close to anyone else – but he stops and reminds himself that the time is _now _and that Ron is _not _Sirius, no matter how similar they may be.

He has to help Ron, at any lengths. Not just as a teacher, or a friend, but as the something more that passed between them when Remus held the redhead that afternoon.

Remus isn't sure how he feels about Ron. He knows they're more than professor and student, and he can't ignore the clenching of his stomach that he recognises as having nothing to do with seeing Ron's cuts or feeling the young man's pain. But as a professional, he has to tell himself firmly that one small emotion is not reason enough to put his career in such jeopardy, especially when it is so fragile anyway. Not to mention playing with Ron's feelings if something were to go wrong - it wouldn't do to go acting on flights of fancy when Ron is in such a state of mind.

Remus spends a long time convincing himself that this is really what he believes.

Sleep doesn't visit him this night.


	7. Chapter Seven

Title: Pockets  
Author: Skep  
Inspired by: This chapter's lyrics are from Powderfinger's song 'Roll Right By You', which can be found on the album 'Vulture Street'.  
Disclaimer: I own nowt but the plot. No infringement intended.  
Feedback: Reviews and encouragement are welcomed with open arms; flamers will be mocked.  
Thanks: As always to RomaKhan, who is a fine writer of Ron/Remus herself. Also thanks to everyone who reviewed; without you I would never post a thing!  
A/N: Whoo, two postings in a week! I spoil you all. No, not really; I'm well aware that this chapter has been a long time coming. There are reasons for the lateness though, involving deaths and uni and _no bloody time_ to do anything. Argh. Anyway, this is chapter seven - probably the weakest so far, and I don't like it, but I felt cruel denying you the Ron/Remus slash, such as it is. 

_Pockets, Chapter Seven_

_"It's hard to believe  
You'd look me in the eye  
And turn away again"  
- Powderfinger_

Remus is conflicted, and Ron thinks he knows why. 

Ever since Ron told him about his cuts, Remus has been edgy – jumpy, Ron would say, if he didn't otherwise note that Remus carries himself with the calm lupine poise that accompanies his affliction.

They are in class now, and Ron knows the answer to a question, even puts his hand up. He knows that Remus has seen him; witnessed amber eyes flickering to him for the briefest second – but his teacher moves his gaze and picks another student instead.

As far away as he is from where Remus stands, Ron can still see the slight grimace that adorns the professor's face.

It's obvious then. Remus is disgusted with Ron – Ron's problems, cutting included – and disgusted with himself for telling his student that they were friends.

He's disgusted with the embrace they shared.

Ron crumbles, and puts his head down to stare at his desk.

He should have known better, he thinks, than to have believed that someone could accept him as he is now; arms tainted by lines made through his _own doing_.

When it comes down to it, Ron can see it's all his own fault. If he weren't so messed up inside – and Ron knows he is messed up; perfectly sane people don't go around slashing their arms to pieces – he wouldn't have cut himself, and Remus wouldn't be disgusted with him, and everything would be as it was at the beginning of term.

Something stops him there, and reminds him that things _wouldn't _be the same. He's never have found out that Remus thinks of him as an equal – a _friend _– rather than just one of the Weasley bunch, or Harry's mate.

And, he thinks, he wouldn't have shared that embrace.

He'd really liked that. Perhaps a little too much.

Ron knows it's wrong to feel like this about a teacher, but he can't help it. Even now, in this place in his mind where he can't stand to be touched by anything or anyone, he craves the contact that Remus could promise him.

He's pretty sure that Remus needed it too – the conformation that yes, there _are _people who care regardless of _who _or _what _you are –

Ron stops.

If that's the reason that Remus hugged him, then why does he look so distressed now?

When he realises that everyone is leaving, Ron quickly turns to Harry and Hermione, telling them that he daydreamed through most of the lesson – not that they hadn't noticed – so he'll just get the notes off Remus. They nod, Harry slightly suspicious because this is the third time in as many weeks that Ron has stayed behind to talk to their Defence professor.

As they leave, Ron moves towards Remus, who is quietly clearing up.

"Remus?"

Ron sees the stiffening of Remus' back, the set of his shoulders, and grim determination fills him.

"Yes, Ron?" Ah. Well, at least it's not 'Mr Weasley'.

"I, uh, I –"

Ron had planned on being sensible about all this, had planned on calmly asking Remus why he was drawing away after just the other day that they were friends, but Ron can't handle everything now and something just _snaps_.

"I'm sorry," he says, forcefully.

"What?" Remus' impeccable manners are lost in surprise, and he turns, frowning slightly. Even with this newfound confidence, Ron can't bear to look at him and see the disgust in his eyes, so he keeps his head down.

"I shouldn't have told you about the – about my – you know." His voice is still strong, though it's mostly anger directed at himself. "You've got enough to cope with without some snotty teenager with issues moping on to you."

He sneaks a glance at his teacher, cringing slightly when he sees the look in Remus' eyes – not focused on him any more, Ron notes, but fixed pointedly out of the window.

Ron's voice gets a little quieter.

"I'm sorry you had to find out," he says, "I'm sorry you hate me."

He turns to leave, but is stopped by Remus' hand on his shoulder and startled cry. Ron has to force himself not to run out of the room.

"You hate me," he says. "I mean, you were all fine about it the other night, but I can see you're disgusted with me. And I don't blame you." He takes a breath and turns to leave again, trying to shrug that patronising hand from his shoulder. "I'm sorry I made you hate me. You don't have to worry about me any more."

Remus' voice, when it comes, is quiet in the large room. "I don't hate you, Ron."

Ron turns, disbelieving, to look at his professor. The hand still hasn't left his shoulder.

"I never could, and I'm sorry I made you think that I did. I meant what I said the other day – you can come to me for anything." He gestures vaguely to the air, and Ron knows that _anything _actually means _anything and everything but especially the fact that you need to cut yourself to feel better about who you are and what's going on around you._

He pauses for a second. "I do care about you, Ron – perhaps more than a teacher should."

Ron smiles, because he cares for Remus too – perhaps more than a student should.

"So I'll say it again – you can come to me for anything. I don't care what it is."

The unspoken part of the invitation tells Ron that Remus enjoys his company, and they should spend more time together. The presence of Remus' hand on his shoulder has lost is patronising manner, morphing to something more like warm comfort.

Ron's feeling a little ashamed that he thought Remus hated him, and his ears are a little pink, but he smiles at the other man.

"Are we alright, then?" Remus asks, removing his arm from Ron's shoulder as the new class starts to filter in.

"We're good," Ron nods, "Definitely good."

He's late to Herbology, but he can't bring himself to care.


End file.
